


I Battesimo

by AngriestPotato



Series: Succession Protocols [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Real Mafia AU, and Godfather themed dick jokes, assorted violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngriestPotato/pseuds/AngriestPotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe a couple decades ago the old man could’ve gotten away with a daily espresso on the terrace of his favorite restaurant; maybe then there was some honor left in this world and small time shits would’ve went through the effort of poisoning his coffee instead of openly shooting at him in the middle of the street.</p><p>Then again, Xanxus knows that a mysterious heart attack wouldn’t have given him free reign to deal with this the way he wanted; the business is as much a game of politics as it is of strength, and the attack could gain him the backing of the allies.</p><p>He won’t have to hold back now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nono gets shot, Tsuna flips out and Xanxus is sketchy af

**Author's Note:**

> This plot is quite clearly, at least in the beggining inspired by The Godfather, and my never well handled need to make Sonny dick jokes.
> 
> There's probably gonna be some guns and assorted violence later on.

Timoteo has a routine. A _routine_. Which, if one’s been in the business for as long as he has, obviously spells trouble; at least it always did in Xanxus’ appreciation and he’s only vaguely aware of said routine.

Maybe a couple decades ago the old man could’ve gotten away with a daily espresso on the terrace of his favorite restaurant; maybe then there was some honor left in this world and small time shits would’ve went through the effort of poisoning his coffee instead of openly shooting at him in the middle of the street.

Then again, Xanxus knows that a mysterious heart attack wouldn’t have given him free reign to deal with this the way he wanted; the business is as much a game of politics as it is of strength, and the attack could gain him the backing of the allies.

He won’t have to hold back now.

Timoteo’s chair is not nearly as comfortable as his, the office’s too crowded with smiling faces all over the walls and staring up at him from the desk; but he does what he can anyway to fit himself in –fucking ergonomic, lumbar support bull _shit_ – and starts making calls.

 

…

 

Tsuna supposes that if Reborn hadn’t forced him to read The Godfather –and he still doesn’t know if that was an honest obligated reading for a mafia boss or a jab– he wouldn’t find this amusing enough to give pause to the panic building in his throat; but Xanxus is sitting behind the desk talking into the phone in the most dangerous whisper Tsuna has ever heard and it almost makes him cough up a laugh.

He is no Michael Corleone, Tsuna thinks; he won’t be able to take charge of this, even if Nono makes it, he’s been hardly capable of forming coherent sentences since he got Xanxus’ first call, he can’t even think in a straight line, he can’t…

A fist sized glass bird flies past him and shatters against the doorframe; Tsuna realizes then that he’s been standing there staring into nothing for over a minute.

And Xanxus whistles at him like he’s a dog; a high, sharp sound with no real malice behind it, merely to get his attention; which in a way is way more offending, but he has no mind to be anything but flipping out at the moment.

  
“You’re manning the phones, little shit, I need you awake.”

  
“Why?”

  
It comes without thinking, and Tsuna’s immediate next thought is that this asshole’s gonna yell at him for talking back, but Xanxus limits himself to stretching his back like a very big cat and gesturing toward the receiver now abandoned on its side.

  
“Because I won’t fucking deal with another cracked voice guardian.”

  
It’s shocking to figure out that that whisper was Xanxus’ version of comfort, but that’s not exactly what Tsuna meant with his question, so he needs to clarify, even if he feels the burning stare and the silent ‘why are you not moving’ in the man’s body language.

  
“Why did they shoot Nono? I mean, is he alright? What are we gonna do?”

  
“ _You_ are gonna sit there and talk to whoever calls because _you_ ’re the fucking heir and it’s your fucking job, I’m gonna go find something to eat,” is the answer, which doesn’t really give him any important information, like how is his grandpa holding up, or why the hell is this even happening, and he’s gonna have to annoy Xanxus into either talking or beating him to a pulp, isn’t he?

  
“Xanxus, how’s Nono?” he asks because this is literally the longest he’s ever spoken to the Varia boss and he’s terrified of using the word ‘dad’ in front of him for no particular reason.

  
“He’s gonna live, he doesn’t need you to baby him.”

  
Xanxus heads for the door with that, and this is weird, he hasn’t snapped at Tsuna; in fact, he’s being surprisingly cooperative for his temper and he’s almost behaving like a normal human being.

A voice in Tsuna’s head says this is dangerous ( _this is wrong, no, don’t trust him, what the fuck_ ) but right now, with Reborn up in Naples on official Vongola business and his guardians either stationed at the hospital or on route, Xanxus is all he’s got; well Xanxus and the nagging, obsessive thought that he has to get out of his system before it drives him insane.

  
“Hey, Xanxus, did you ever had to read The Godfather?”

  
And this is it, the moment where all hell breaks loose and Xanxus shoots at him or throws something and everything is back to normal; or it would, if Tsuna hadn’t somehow crossed to the twilight zone in his sleep. Here, the man he’s been half afraid of since adolescence turns smoothly around with what looks to Tsuna like the ghost of a smile.

( _no, please don’t, if he smiles I’ll really lose it_ )

  
“Are you asking how big my dick is?”

  
That does break Tsuna, making him laugh so hard that he has to bend at the waist for a minute, which is just enough to find Dino instead of Xanxus with him in the office when it finally passes.

  
“I think I’m having a nervous breakdown” he forces out through his tears.

  
“That would explain you being so friendly with Xanxus,” and thank god for Dino and his nonjudgmental tone, because he needs someone to be the same as before, “how’s Nono?”

  
“Xanxus won’t tell, well he says he’s gonna live but not much else.”

  
“He’s probably waiting for Squalo to report then, he’s been at the hospital the whole day.”

  
Dino sits on the other side of the desk and Tsuna could hug him for helping him translate whatever little comes out of Xanxus’ end into actual, real people words, even if said words aren’t all that relaxing.

  
“I sent Gokudera and Yamamoto over there, I really hope they don’t get into a fight.”

  
“It’ll be alright, fratellino. Squalo knows how to behave, you should be worried about Xanxus.”

  
Tsuna snorts because he _is_ worried about Xanxus, he’s been worried about Xanxus for the longest time for various reasons, the latest being that maybe, just maybe –and this is probably the crisis talking– he’d be a better option for this position than him; but there’s something on Dino’s mind and he trusts him blindly.

  
“Why?”

  
It takes a moment of his older brother looking down at his hands like he’s wording something very carefully, and it’s only long enough for Tsuna to start to understand exactly what he’s getting at, and just how right he is.

  
“I’m not saying there’s any evidence that he’s implicated in this, but we have to consider, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to kill Nono.”


	2. Xanxus waits, Dino points fingers and Tsuna makes a stupid decision.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Xanxus is tired he feels cold, no matter how long he’s been out of the ice –six years, six against the eight he should’ve lived and didn’t– he still feels the freezing numbness crawling up his toes, twisting the fire in his chest into the sharp fear of knowing that his life’s about to stop; he still hears the metaphorical gears screeching to a halt and the proverbial orchestra’s pathetic fucking crescendo and…
> 
> He stops –he learned that in the ice, because being a popsicle’s all about bending your own thoughts into something bearable– he’s not tired; he’s waiting for Squalo to show up with the slug they pulled out of the old man, he knows that no bullet’s really untraceable when you’re knowledgeable and driven enough.
> 
> He’s waiting and there’s no naps before a firefight.

When Xanxus is tired he feels cold, no matter how long he’s been out of the ice –six years, _six_ against the eight he should’ve lived and didn’t– he still feels the freezing numbness crawling up his toes, twisting the fire in his chest into the sharp fear of knowing that his life’s about to stop; he still hears the metaphorical gears screeching to a halt and the proverbial orchestra’s pathetic fucking crescendo and…

  
He stops –he learned that in the ice, because being a popsicle’s all about bending your own thoughts into something bearable– he’s not tired; he’s waiting for Squalo to show up with the slug they pulled out of the old man, he knows that no bullet’s really untraceable when you’re knowledgeable and driven enough.

  
He’s waiting and there’s no naps before a firefight.

  
For the time being he can keep on goading Sawada, the little shit, working him up to an even more jittery state that he’s already in.

The shot had caught Nono half standing, entering through the hip and lodging into the bone; it had somehow missed every important part of the old man except the nerves.

It really wasn’t all that bad, at his age he was due a broken hip sooner or later, anyway; though it had most likely hurt like a motherfucker.

  
But Sawada doesn’t really need to find out that Xanxus has known all this for most of the day, he can keep worrying for a little longer, it’ll keep him focused on something else that tracing Xanxus’ every move like is his fucking custom. He doesn’t need those eyes on him, it’s like having Timoteo staring at him instead of a little Japanese boy from time to time.

Other times it feels like Massimo’s glancing at him across the dinner table and pulling faces to make him laugh, like Enrico looking so proud of him when he first learn to shoot, sometimes is just like having Federico showing up to meet with school administration and staying on his side, no matter who he had beaten up this time.

Xanxus doesn’t think about them anymore because they are just holes in his life now; dark, shapeless figures and cold graves ( _cold, cold, why is this goddamn house so goddamn cold_ ).

  
He stops, again. He waits for Squalo; he pours himself a whiskey and fixes something easy to eat, which ends up being a pound of tagliatelle bolognese since there are no meat cut selections in this shitty house.

At some point while he’s stuffing his face the Bucking Horse comes into the kitchen, followed closely by a very serious looking Sawada, and he’s almost impressed; but he knows what it’s about to be said, because he’s been expecting it from the moment he saw Dino motherfucking Cavallone walk through the front door.

There’s someone in the Vongola that’s up to the neck into this mess, someone who’s been helping whoever ordered the hit on the old man, assuming that it wasn’t an inside job from the root. Cavallone’s probably aware of that, not to mention, convinced it’s Xanxus, and now he’s planted the doubt in Teeny Tiny Trash’s mind.

  
“We found troubling information at the Cavallone, about Nono’s shooting”, the man actually stares at him like he’s expecting a confession, it’d be funny if there wasn’t soft, brown, _Vongola_ eyes trained on him too, “it points to an inside job, someone gave the shooter access to the building right across the restaurant.”

  
“Lussuria’s on that, with Mammon and Bel”

  
Xanxus takes another calm bite of his pasta like he’s not being flippant on purpose just to show this little kid and his Cavallone escort that he has all bases covered; besides, he can sense how distrustful they are, how they wonder if he’s trying to keep them out of the game, and what’s the point of being an asshole if you’re not gonna enjoy it?

  
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  
Fucking Sawada’s using his lost child voice and it pisses him off; a kid like that doesn’t survive in this world, not for long at least, and whoever this shitty brat and his friends think Timoteo is, they are way fucking wrong if they figure he’s not every bit as ruthless as Xanxus.

Xanxus has seen Sawada’s kind strewn dead all over the town; judges, policemen, priests, pentiti. He’s even old enough to have seen the fucking mayor shot to death, though he was hardly a saint. The thing is, the way he is, this kid won’t survive five years and Xanxus really doesn’t know why anyone even bothers at this point.

  
“My friends are out there, these are things I should know.”

  
It’s then, looking up at the most upstanding mafia member ( _fucking idiot, what is his goddamn damage_ ) that Xanxus decides to use him; if he’s so damn eager to be in the know and “out there”, he’s about to get his wish. He’ll make good bait if anybody gets trigger happy, and fuck, Xanxus is going to enjoy seeing him try and come to terms with all the different kinds of ugly that the old man’s been protecting him from.

  
“You wanna make this your official christening in to the mafia, little shit? Fine. You can call me padrino.”

  
He swears he can hear the Cavallone think in the silence that follows, but at least the Horse has enough sense to not reject the offer himself, because Sawada would be fucked if word got out that other bosses were already making his decisions for him.

  
_'This is not what Nono wanted for you. You're not ready. This is way too dangerous'_

  
There's no need to say it, it's in his body language, in every milimeter of his expression in the second that it takes for him to compose it into the bland attention of a poker face; the kid on the other hand is staring at the side of Xanxus' head like he'll make him turn around out of sheer force of will.

  
"What do I have to do?"

  
It's an honest question; simple, earnest. And Xanxus has to take a moment to bite down on his meal and swallow back the sharp taste of hatred that floods his mouth; he could kill Sawada Tsunayoshi then, he knows it deep in his gut, tear him apart bare handed and not feel a shred of regret about it.

 _Fucking figure it out yourself_ , he wants to scream, _do something on your own, good goddammit; no one will hold your fucking hand through this world, wise up and learn to act before you get all of us killed, you sad piece of shit_.

  
He chews, he swallows, he _stops_.

  
"Just stay fucking put, and find someone to take your place at the phone."


	3. Reborn remembers, Yamamoto doesn’t nearly get as much credit as he should, and Tsuna experiences a first.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reborn feels himself go stiff with something almost like dread, this is BAD in all capital letters. Timoteo still thought Tsuna wasn’t ready for fully entering their world, thinking about it now even Reborn doesn’t consider it the best idea; what Xanxus is trying to do goes against Tsuna’s very nature, and there’s no telling how the kid’s gonna react to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The facility referenced in this fic is basically a ward for neuroatypical children, which are not in and of themselves bad, but some tend to have a lot of problems, especially because the staff is often not trained in handling overly violent patients.
> 
> Also, keeping someone in for as long as they had had to keep Xanxus is not only not meant to be realistic but really damn illegal.
> 
> Lastly, the squeezing machines are not as bad as they sound, and are generally used for kids in the autistic spectrum who need the feeling of pressure to be comfortable, getting Xanxus in them was probably a desperate resort from the staff to keep him still.

Reborn worries about Tsuna, he’s spent over half a decade worrying about Tsuna; he’s trained him, watched him fight, watched him win, the kid’s grown before his very eyes. But when he calls HQ and Tsuna tells him Xanxus has him on phone duty with Dino it’s a huge weight off of Reborn’s shoulders.

  
Dino’s perfectly capable of keeping Tsuna out of trouble and once Reborn gets there he’ll handle the situation himself; he’ll decide himself if his youngest student can handle this crisis, especially if the Varia boss is taking charge for the moment.

  
But Reborn has spent most of his life on edge, watching the horizon for the next catastrophe to shake the Vongola, so he’s hardly set foot on the Falcone-Borsellino when he’s calling the house to check on the state of things. He doesn’t expect the voice of Yamamoto on the other side, but he figures Xanxus has assigned all of the kids on shifts around the phone to keep them off his war room; it’s a sound decision from a very strategic standpoint, even if it spells possible bad news for him.

  
He’s tired of having to struggle the Vongola out of Xanxus’ hands; it’s a war that began 14 years ago, one that’s put Reborn in places he never imagined he’d be in. He’s never been as glad of not being able to remember his dreams than the week after the ring skirmish; he knows his nights must’ve been filled with the faces of the kids he was sure were being sent to slaughter, but he could’ve lived through those as the new guardians had survived the fight.

  
What really haunts him to this day is the face of Timoteo when Reborn had showed him the file on Xanxus and the boss had realized his cruelty; no one like Reborn knows Nono had thought sending his son to the ice was the best option.

  
Vongola rule called for blood, _public execution_ ; Timoteo had broken protocol and sent Xanxus to his own private hell instead.

Reborn might not agree with the man’s methods but he doesn’t want to see the Varia boss back in a hole like that again. Hell, he’d kill Xanxus himself before seeing the squeezing machines again, or read the exhausted annotations of ‘ _hysterical strength_ ’ and ‘ _highly aggressive, prone to physical violence_ ’.

  
Reborn sighs, and focuses on asking Yamamoto for Tsuna, he really has no time to lose himself in the Vongola’s horrible and very fucking illegal mistakes, –he figures that’s redundant, anyway– but the voice on the line tells him Tsuna left with Xanxus over an hour ago, saying something about tracing a bullet.

  
“Hey, Reborn, by the way; what does figghiozzu mean?”

  
Yamamoto is much smarter than he lets on, Reborn’s aware of that, but catching that should earn him a gold star, it’s also an indication that Gokudera’s not at the house with him.

  
“Where did you hear it?”

  
“Xanxus called Tsuna that.”

  
Reborn feels himself go stiff with something almost like dread, this is _BAD_ in all capital letters.

Timoteo still thought Tsuna wasn’t ready for fully entering their world, thinking about it now even Reborn doesn’t consider it the best idea; what Xanxus is trying to do goes against Tsuna’s very nature, and there’s no telling how the kid’s gonna react to it.

  
Reborn pretty much jumps in front of the cab and promises to tip a hundred note for the fastest ride of the cabbie’s life.

 

...

 

Xanxus loves guns, he liked them before, but since he got out of a facility he doesn’t even remember the name of –he took to calling it the ice, and everyone else followed along– they became the big passion in his life. He’s customized enough of them to know them inside out and, most importantly, to know every single seller of the underworld.

  
Lussuria taunts him from time to time saying he could recognize a gun from the shaving on a bullet, but no one really can do that, what he did spot was the small initial carved on the butt of the slug. He almost cried with laughter at that, flatly ignoring Squalo’s concerned stare, this was a fuck up start to end.

  
His mood is so good that he almost forgets about the kid when he leaves the mansion, but he’d apparently heard him laughing because he stands at the office door ready to follow him; so he calls out for him to get into the damn car –in full sicilian this time, no more babying for the heir– and makes his way down town for a quick visit.

  
The seller's familiar with him and he doesn’t expect a shake down when he bursts through the door; neither does Sawada, who’s surprised into stillness at the way Xanxus presses the man’s head to the working table and holds the bullet out for him to see.

  
“Someone used your stock against the Vongola.”

  
“I wouldn’t have sold it if I knew that’s what was for, I swear I’d never…” the man stammers against the rough wood of the table.

   
“Yeah, I don’t care”

  
Xanxus pulls his own gun and slowly, deliberately clicks the safety off; Sawada holds his hands up like he's going to try and stop him, but he seems to still have some semblance of common sense because he doesn't move any closer.

  
“You have a client list,” the man nods to the statement, and Xanxus releases his head without ever letting him out of his sights.

  
He receives the weathered notebook with a single hand and asks the man to point out first costumers, the ones that came in looking like they’d never felt the weight of a gun in their hands. He narrows it down to three names he commits to memory, reading them aloud to Sawada as he cherry picks them from the scribbled notes, see if the kid can get them to stick.

 

He leads the heir out to the car again and dicks around with the mirrors for a bit, because he can feel the nervous energy coming off of the boy like a physical weight in the unasuming sedan with them; he's not quite sure himself if he's reveling in it or waiting for Sawada to relax, he just makes other unnecessary adjustments until he has nothing to do but look at the kid.

  
Xanxus recognises the look on his face, it's a very familiar look in the most unexpected face and the chuckle it drags out of him is genuine; the kid's not scared, or nervous. He's angry.


	4. Tsuna eats a burger and reinvents the meaning of cognitive dissonance, Xanxus hates hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Xanxus planned this, and Tsuna’s getting more and more suspicious with every passing second (what a coincidence he just knew where that bullet had come from), then he only brought Tsuna along to show him how unprepared he was for the cruelty of “imposing discipline”, of rising up to Nono’s expectations for a Vongola boss.
> 
> If Xanxus didn’t plan this…
> 
> Tsuna doesn’t even finish that though, the man might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole by his own merit; Tsuna doubts he’d hitch a ride on someone else’s power hungry strategies.

It feels better biting down, or at least that’s Xanxus’ excuse for driving him down to the nearest drive through and shoving a burger in his face; and Tsuna’s not fucking hungry, he hasn’t been hungry in months now that he thinks about it, because just thinking about sitting through one more lesson with the old guardians makes his stomach seize up.

  
“A boss is a father for the family  
A boss is someone to help and protect, someone to come to in times of need.  
A boss is one to impose discipline.”

  
A _firm but warm hand_ , neck deep in the habitus of corrupt assholes looking out for themselves no matter how much they claim to be community pillars; that’s all a fucking boss is and Tsuna’s tired of everyone thinking he’s too young or too stupid to see it.

  
He digs into his burger again and Xanxus is right, the slight moment of resistance before the meat gives under his teeth is somewhat therapeutic; maybe he’s starting to understand the man, maybe it’s just his intuition that’s beginning to figure out the Varia boss’ plan.

  
If Xanxus planned this, and Tsuna’s getting more and more suspicious with every passing second ( _what a coincidence he just knew where that bullet had come from_ ), then he only brought Tsuna along to show him how unprepared he was for the cruelty of “imposing discipline”, of rising up to Nono’s expectations for a Vongola boss.

  
If Xanxus didn’t plan this…

  
Tsuna doesn’t even finish that though, the man might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole by his own merit; Tsuna doubts he’d hitch a ride on someone else’s power hungry strategies.

  
He takes another bite and the anger doesn’t go away, but at least he’s not shaking with it anymore; he tries a few deep breaths to unwind the cold, violent urge to destroy from his bones. His cellphone rings, and when Reborn’s name flashes across the screen he gives up on calming himself down.

  
He throws the phone inside the burger’s box unanswered and onto the back seat, then turns around to Xanxus staring down at his own cell; he thinks for a minute that he’s being allowed the dignity of not being laughed at, and he’s wrong, yet again.

  
“The old man’s awake and asking for you, little shit”

  
His only response as they drive off is a vague gesture, one he’s off handedly sure he’s seen on Xanxus before ( _of all people_ ), a mixture of ‘let’s go’ and ‘fuck him’ and pure undiluted exhaustion.

 

…

 

The old man really is awake, and for the first time that day Xanxus doesn’t mind driving all the way across the city; no, the drive and the babysitting, even the sheer act of showing up in this shitty hospital room ( _every hospital in every city of every good goddamn country is always_ cold) is worth it just for the expression that crosses Timoteo’s face when he sees his last born ( _ha!_ ) walking in with his protégé, his unsullied Decimo.

  
He revels in the guilt, the second where Nono’s eyes soften at the sight of his scars; he doesn’t know who showed the old Vongola boss his file, though he could hazard a guess, but he’s ever glad for the power it gave him. He thinks back to when he was only a teenager; lying in the snow, eyes closing with exhaustion and the strain of stubbornly dragging himself another mile, just one more mile, powered solely by the force of his anger –righteous, justified– until he finally passed out.

Xanxus still wishes they’d taken a picture when they found him and took him back to the ice, but then again they couldn’t admit they had let one of their wards, even the most problematic one, escape the facility in the dead of winter, running across the adjacent patch of woods and its small stream, stopping only when frostbite and hypothermia debilitated him enough to nearly kill him.

  
So he settles for the scars, even if after that first shock of regret, Nono’s pity is unbearable; thankfully, this time, the old man turns to look at Sawada standing behind him, pale and wild eyed, then back at Xanxus, then at the kid again.

  
“How are you holding up, Tsunayoshi?” Nono murmurs through the haze of painkillers.

  
Xanxus moves inside the room with his arms raised in a mockery of innocence, making no other sound than his heavy footsteps.

  
(‘Selective mutism’ the report says ‘non-responsive to pain’)

  
He’s had an interesting day with the heir, but he’s not here to go on burger dates or anger management sessions, it takes one look at Nono to remember that; he still has a few people to take care off before he can sit back and relax, and if Decimo wants to follow him around then he’ll have to settle for only a limited amount of bedside worrying.

  
“I’m back out in five minutes, with or without you, heir”

 

…

 

For the second time since this whole bullshit began there’s no bite in Xanxus’ voice, and if he has to be honest to himself, Tsuna’s glad for the time limit.

He’s caught between being worried about Timoteo –and he is _truly_ worried, this is his grandfather after all– and the small but unavoidable spark of envy in the darkest part of his mind.

  
(‘How are you holding up, Tsunayoshi?’)

  
How is _he_ holding up? He’s not the one in a hospital bed with 67 stitches and a broken hip, he’s a perfectly healthy 20 year old who has been trained to deal with this bunch of trigger happy assholes since he was fourteen. He’s almost lost his life, the lives of his friends, more than once, he thinks he’s earned the right to be trusted with handling the situation.

  
Tsuna stops himself then, because even at his worst he can’t quite accept the poisonous thought that follows: _Xanxus doesn’t get babied, Xanxus doesn’t get worried looks from wounded old men, Xanxus tried to kill Nono and he’s somehow more trustworthy. Xanxus is all the things Tsuna_ isn’t _._


	5. Tsuna shows a worrying streak of self hatred, Xanxus watches and someone gets killed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the fifth –fourth? maybe? like he’s actually keeping count– time since the old man got himself in a hospital bed, Xanxus is almost surprised at the Sawada kid; but he’s never really had much patience for extracting information, god knows, and Mammon’s way fucking expensive, so he sees no problem letting these snot nosed assholes deal with the rat themselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you know, there's a throwaway character's violent death ahead, it's short but it's there

A part of him thinks this was supposed to be a little more heated, a part of him wishes this was more heated, an actual fight; but Yamamoto and Gokudera have agreed with hushed, measured voices, all three of them standing outside, watching the sun rise over the Vongola mansion. The next step of this process should have to be handled by the 10th generation themselves; the next step is torture.

  
In fact, the only dissenting opinion had more to do with Tsuna’s suspicion of Xanxus as a main culprit than with how they could get proof of his involvement _; he wouldn’t do it, not like this_ , Gokudera had mumbled around his cigarette, and he had a point.  
  
Xanxus wouldn’t use puppets like this, and Tsuna’s head is spinning. Is the Varia boss hiding or scheming? Would torturing the man Lussuria and Belphegor had smoked out even get them anywhere?

  
Maybe they should let them deal with this, Mammon’s an expert at it anyway, could even get rocks to talk; and they couldn’t even involve all of the guardians. Hibari would probably end up killing the man, Ryohei had gotten awfully close to the Varia lately –he judges people by different standards, Tsuna guesses, and he’s resilient enough to take whatever they throw at him–, Chrome and Lambo aren’t even options in his mind since he feels they’re already giving up enough just by being there, with Chrome constantly fighting to work even through prolonged hospital stays and Lambo being a teenager, if enthusiastic.

  
“Xanxus was born to the streets,” Hayato’s voice breaks through the steadily rising frustration, and Tsuna can’t help but look around nervously ( _what a Decimo, goddamn, scared and nervous as his near permanent state_ ); if the man hears them they’re done for, it’s an unspoken rule.

  
“This stinks of privilege,” and the involuntary hint of self hatred through the smoke doesn’t go unnoticed, “whoever’s pulling the strings has never killed a man before, I’d put good money on that.”

  
“How do you call that?” Yamamoto asks, because he is himself and if they need someone to diffuse the tension he’ll happily volunteer, “Unbaptized?”

  
“Sometimes.” Gokudera’s shrugging as he stomps out his stub, “Who’s gonna go tell Xanxus?”

  
There is really only one answer to that.

 

…

 

For the fifth –fourth? maybe? like he’s actually keeping count– time since the old man got himself in a hospital bed, Xanxus is almost surprised at the Sawada kid; but he’s never really had much patience for extracting information, god knows, and Mammon’s way fucking expensive.  
  
So he sees no problem letting these snot nosed assholes deal with the rat themselves; he’ll pretend to be responsible to his figghiozzu and tag along to ‘supervise’, though. The kid’s been doing an amazing job at avoiding Reborn –mostly because since Timoteo’s favorite strong arm arrived he’s been practically buried under a pile of old, worried, _stubborn_ guardians–, so Xanxus figures he owes him at least this.

 

…

 

It goes better than expected, if admitting that isn’t jinxing it; Gokudera’s shirt’s probably ruined by the small droplets of blood that managed to splatter his chest, and Yamamoto’s wearing his dangerous smile, gently explaining the meaning of seppuku to the man tied to the chair, but Tsuna hasn’t flinched, and his voice hasn’t wavered once.

He’s been thinking about how pale his grandfather looked that one day at the hospital, and how the ninth guardians sounded on the phone; most of all he’s been replaying in his head the bout of laughter that came out of this fucker’s mouth when they first started, he had laughed so hard he’d given himself the coughs (it reminded Tsuna so much of Byakuran that his chest burned, and he could feel the acidic pleasure of _ending_ it – _end everything, burn it to the ground–_  crawl up his esophagus again).

  
Yamamoto’s low, friendly voice asks the man about honor, a whisper of _would you die for your employer? Would they do the same for you?_ and the man is finally ready to talk when the guardian presses the edge of his blade against his stomach; the mumble is rough, distorted with panic. Then the man is cackling again.

  
Tsuna catches one of the names Xanxus had made him memorize not twenty four hours ago before he shoots; and this time there’s no pleasure, just silence, blessed silence and the Varia boss’ eyes on him from the industrial catwalk, high and off to the back of whatever kind of warehouse this used to be, an improvised mezzanine seating for the Vongola Decimo’s first real kill.

  
This man won’t be saved like Byakuran was, that’s for certain, his nose is pretty much gone and his eyes are open, watching; and even the regret Tsuna expects fails him, there’s guilt, sure, but not regret. Everything is frozen, three men staring at each other in a roughly triangular formation with only Xanxus’ boots slamming down the stairs to fill the silence.

  
Tsuna knows implicitly that his guardians have done things for him before that they don’t dare talk to him about, he doesn’t push for details and he doesn’t judge; now he recognizes that same look in both Gokudera’s and Yamamoto’s faces, they won’t ask why he did it, they won’t hold it against him.

But Xanxus? Xanxus is making a beeline for them, and when he stops just a couple inches from him, his apparent new ally reaches for the gun dangling from his hand, inspecting it for a second before deeming it safe enough to pass to Gokudera; Tsuna expects him to laugh, or clap, or something to that effect, but the Varia boss simply stares at him with a peculiar kind of intensity and asks a single question.

  
“Would you take it back?”

  
Tsuna shakes his head, because at the time it’s really all he’s capable of, and that’s when Xanxus chuckles, making his way to leave the building with an off handed comment about how drinks are on him.

  
It takes Tsuna a full minute to understand that Xanxus is proud of him.


	6. Tsuna takes a chance, Xanxus is happy and Squalo's an asshole.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna can’t wait, and he can’t live the rest of his life running himself into the ground in this mad race for supremacy; for a moment he sees his future so clear ahead of him that he gets nauseous: sitting on Nono’s chair with Reborn standing behind him and whispering in his ear, telling him who he should and shouldn’t trust.
> 
> Always the disliked, weak boss, knowing he’d have someone to fall back on when he fucks up; safer, but in a leash so tight that he’s sure he’ll end up choking on it.

By the time Dino finds them, clean and exhausted enough to be able to laugh at the whole ordeal, they’ve already closed ranks; the rest of the guardians have been debriefed, which was difficult in its own right, but Tsuna realizes he had been giving them much less credit than they deserved –they didn’t look at him like a killer, didn’t flinch away from his touch–, actually, he’s beginning to think they knew this had to be done, clearly aware of the business in a way he didn’t want to admit until very recently.

Tsuna doesn’t repeat his question even if it’s like a stone in his chest, in the sudden silence after his brother walks in, glancing at all three of them in turn where they slouch at the Vongola dinner table; he already has an inkling that’s more of a glaring neon sign.

Whoever ordered the shooting on Nono was trying to overthrow _him_ , not the old boss and his guardians; and this is something he has understood from the very beginning, he’s too young, too inexperienced. Reborn and his grandpa can’t expect the Vongola operatives to accept a kid half their age, who’s not even Italian and doesn’t have a single kill to his name –well, _didn’t_ have a kill to his name– as the boss when there’s a thousand others better trained, a thousand others more loyal to the family, willing to risk anything to have the title.

_Why did they shoot Nono?_ The answer burns in the pit of his stomach and makes looking up at Dino, at the poker face he didn’t use to mind this much, didn’t make him want to scream before, so damn difficult.

  
“Reborn’s been looking for you, three,” Dino tries and if Tsuna hadn’t spent most of the last decade with him he might’ve never noticed how the light tone isn’t natural, “where did you disappear to all day?”

“To run Xanxus’ errands.”

  
There’s no inflection in his voice, sitting on the edge of the chair, bent arms supported on his knees and head down, but the thought gets another laugh out of him; it isn’t until then that he realizes the setup of the room, Gokudera and Yamamoto on either side of him, the Cavallone boss standing by the opposite end of the table, an enemy front holding its position.

He needs Dino on his team, if nothing else for moral support –this is a Vongola mess after all, having another family intervene would only make things worse for him–, he’d like to run the day by him and have someone who hasn’t spent half his life trying to subvert the power structure of the family support the decision they’ve just made. Then again, Dino is Reborn’s star apprentice, he was raised the exact way the old guardians had been trying to teach them, to keep things like they are, to hold on to power; his advice would most likely be to wait word from the tutor and leave this in the hands of someone more experienced.

Tsuna can’t wait, and he can’t live the rest of his life running himself into the ground in this mad race for supremacy; for a moment he sees his future so clear ahead of him that he gets nauseous: sitting on Nono’s chair with Reborn standing behind him and whispering in his ear, telling him who he should and shouldn’t trust. Always the disliked, weak boss, knowing he’d have someone to fall back on when he fucks up; safer, but in a leash so tight that he’s sure he’ll end up choking on it.

  
“Where is Xanxus, anyway?” at least Dino doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t pretend he’s not worried about the weird kind of truce they’ve struck with the Varia boss, “did he find the rat?”

“Would he tell us if he did?” Yamamoto cuts in before Tsuna can even finish coughing up another hysterical chuckle, and the reason why Gokudera and him work so well together is readily apparent when the storm guardian adds a snort and a mumble of ‘ _the asshole_ ’.

  
Dino leaves not three minutes after, with the promise of coming back the next morning before visiting hours at the hospital; he relaxes visibly when he’s told that Xanxus has been locked in the war room with Squalo all day, which does nothing but confirm Gokudera’s suspicions.

Reborn has gotten them a babysitter, and they don’t have much time to move before someone who doesn’t trust them as openly as the Cavallone boss comes to check on them, someone who won’t buy their story simply because lying it’s too unexpected coming from them.

Tsuna almost bursts through the door of whatever room this is –a weird mix of an office and a canteen, stuck awkwardly in the middle of the Vongola mansion– and it’s not to make an entrance, but because he can’t help the surge of almost manic energy that has him on his feet and shaking.

He stills so abruptly that he half trips on his own feet as he looks for the only one who has given even a semblance of freedom in this; and stops worrying about Xanxus having a hand in the shooting, stops doubting his own fucking judgment, if only because the intrusive thought he can no longer ignore might be the salvation of his entire inner circle.

  
“Padrino, can I contact the allies?”

“Behind the old men’s back, of fucking course you can” Xanxus spares barely a glance his way from the armchair he’s sprawled on, but he downs his drink –a tumbler of something vaguely brown– to address him more comfortably, “are you moving to greener pastures, figghiozzu? Go for the cupola and take over while they can’t stop you?”

  
There’s venomous pleasure in the Varia boss’ voice and Tsuna hates to be in this position, hates to _prove him right_ , but there’s nothing else he can do right now; if he wants to change the Vongola, if he wants to keep his friends safe, he has to make himself the bigger target, the ungrateful asshole that was just waiting for something like this to happen to overthrow the old boss.

 

…

 

Xanxus forgives the kid’s italian, because _fine_ , the cupola might even take it better if he doesn’t speak full sicilian, but he makes sure Sawada realizes just how familiar this is for the both of them.

He’s hardly spared more than a fleeting thought to the day when the kid finally takes the chair, but he guessed that blind anger was to be expected; instead, now that it’s actually here, he’s two seconds away from laughing until his throat gives. This kid doesn’t have the least idea what kind of people he’s about to try and sell his soul to, if he had any left to offer, that is; if he hadn’t already squandered it by openly referring to him as his godfather. That’s the kicker, Sawada doesn’t see past the next instant.

_It’s amateur hour up in here_ , his brain helpfully provides, and he can almost see Squalo’s sharp smile from somewhere behind him, _this is a gold mine_.

He doesn’t tell Sawada that he ‘contacted the allies’ since the day of the shooting, or that they had all been so very sympathetic to his plight as a worried son, guaranteeing him that none would halt his hand when it came to dealing with Timoteo’s attacker no matter who they turned out to be; a couple of them had gone far enough to offer their police connections, like he even needed them.

Xanxus looks at the Decimo and manages not to laugh to his face; he doesn’t care if he convinces the cupola to give him the title –which he will, most likely; Timoteo was the oldest one at the table, and age, for those assholes, is power, the idea of negotiating with this kid will be much more comfortable to them– the Vongola’s political power is already in Xanxus’ hands. He’s the devoted son of the old boss after all, and the padrino of the new one, not even the old man’s favorite dog will be able to touch him.

  
“I’ll call the cupola as soon as I deal with the man who ordered Nono’s shooting.”

  
The little shit nods, asks at which time does he want him ready to leave; and Xanxus can live with having him riding along to the end, he really doesn’t care one way or another as long as he gets to pull the trigger.

  
“The old king is _nearly_ dead,” Squalo chuckles as soon as the door closes behind the boy, “long live the king.”

  
And he sure as hell doesn’t mean the Sawada runt.


	7. Xanxus is not here to talk, there's a crisis in the distance and Squalo shows up with snacks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Xanxus is dangerous, Tsunayoshi, in that he always thinks of himself first.”
> 
> Tsuna had bitten his tongue and not commented on how he wasn’t the one who had kept his own kid institutionalized in a hellhole somewhere in Canada for eight years. He also didn’t ask if that was the fate waiting for him too after what he was planning to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Routine throaway death warning coming your way.

He’s losing his mind, Tsuna is fairly certain of it; the wait feels like those awful seconds when the batteries in a controller die –or how it used to feel, back when he had the time to play videogames, and Tsuna can’t even remember when was the last time he did something appropriate for his own damn age– and the game keeps going around his frozen character.

  
But Xanxus had said to wait, and so he waits, if only because he hasn’t the least idea of how they’re going to get into the building that the man behind this works. Tsuna doesn’t even want to think of the man’s name, doesn’t want to know a single thing about him when he’s sure he’ll get to watch him die in the near future; he clearly doesn’t have a mind to come up with a plan to actually get past whatever security a rented office building might have, even if the Varia have sent him a file on it, extensive down to the blueprints.

Xanxus on the other hand knows what he’s messing with, he’s good at what he does; it’s one of those things that Tsuna was always vaguely aware of, but it’s particularly obvious when he finally shows up at the Vongola mansion that morning, two days after the interrogation. And it isn’t even _painfully_ obvious, it’s actually almost reassuring, in a way, to slip out of the side door to the gardens on what was probably the wettest morning of the year.

  
At the very least it’s refreshing to stand in the rain after being stuck inside the mansion with the heat kicked up high after Timoteo was discharged the night before; his broken hip had started to bother him from the moment he rolled himself in and he cannot fault the man from wanting comfort after being shot, but Tsuna also couldn’t help overthinking his involvement in this mess to the point of fever.

Timoteo’s grandfather voice –softer than his usual tone, even after all these years– didn’t help either, asking about what he and Xanxus had been doing, what kind of errands he had been running.

 

( _“Xanxus is dangerous, Tsunayoshi, in that he always thinks of himself first.”_

_Tsuna had bitten his tongue and not commented on how he wasn’t the one who had kept his own kid institutionalized in a hellhole somewhere in Canada for eight years. He also didn’t ask if that was the fate waiting for him too after what he was planning to do._

_“Just gathering info,” he had answered._

_Not: tortured and killed a man, or: watched as Gokudera carved an intricate Vongola crest on his chest because he couldn’t stomach to do that himself.)_

 

So even if he is roughly handed an umbrella, a printed confirmation for a rented office and nothing more –no gun, no more instructions– Tsuna isn’t about to complain or ask any questions, not when he’s this exhausted and his nerves are so frayed. And it’s easy too, to let Xanxus simply drive him, without a word beyond an ominous ‘don’t fucking panic’; the whole thing is a picnic, up until the Varia boss shoves him through the metal detectors.

  
Tsuna freezes for a second, even if he’s clean, and stumbles a few steps; it happens too fast to see it clearly, but Xanxus’ hand catches his elbow before he falls ass first onto the floor of the lobby, and _now_ the machine is beeping, having picked up whatever it is that Xanxus has hidden under his heavy coat.

  
Both guards stand from their desk, uniformed but not carabinieri, he can at least say that through the screeching of alarms in his head; but all Xanxus does is step across the machine, with Tsuna’s arm still in a tight grip, dragging him some when he moves, and holds up his umbrella for everyone to see.

  
He feels the rubber band snap of the tension diffusing, and Tsuna can breathe again, mumbling some sort of apology at the half hearted chiding about security protocols they’re given along with their keycards, one of which is promptly slid back across the desk.

  
“We’re expecting more people.”

  
Xanxus’ tone is the exact middle point between polite and annoyed, and Tsuna can’t even tell if this is an act, anymore. He realizes that this is what Reborn would call a learning opportunity, though his teacher’s methods involve a lot more trying and error; Reborn would’ve let him come alone and get himself arrested, it’s a sobering thought, one that makes him think he should’ve started looking into other ways of absorbing all the things he didn’t know before this all happened.

But it was comfortable wasn’t it? To sit and wait for Reborn to decide what he needed to learn, and at which moment; as comfortable as it was to let the old guardians talk and talk about what a boss should do, what a boss should be; as uncomplicated as it is to follow Xanxus now. For the first time since Reborn walked through his door, Tsuna starts to figure out that what has landed him in this fucked up situation is not the mafia, but his own personality.

 

( _“He always thinks of himself first,” Nono said, and it feels like a great idea, like what Tsuna was supposed to be doing all along._ )

 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to do that,” it’s the next thing to come out of his mouth, and it’s unthinking, when Xanxus pulls both his usual guns from the waistband of his pants between the sixth and seventh floor; and he has been so quiet that it makes the Varia boss turn to look at him like he had suddenly appeared there.

  
“You’re not.”

 

Xanxus doesn’t even bother to smile while the doors open on a floor that isn’t the one on the print out, without even a ding to use as a cue for this, just footsteps muffled by the expensive looking carpeting and the soft annoyed grumble of the man sitting in the office at the end of the hall.

 

“What the fuck do you…oh”

 

It’s almost innocent the way the clean shaven face looks up at them, glancing quickly from him to Xanxus, to the guns hanging by his sides; the man lets out something like a chuckle before he leans back in his chair, eyes bright as if he had just gotten a joke.

 

“I never thought I‘d see you here,” his voice is pleasant, educated, pointing at Tsuna with a pen, “the Vongola’s little puppet boss. Has your teacher sent you to make you seem legitimate? Because I’ll assume if someone’s meant to be pulling a trigger that’ll be him.”

 

He turns to Xanxus with something half contempt, half mockery for all of the two seconds that it takes to have the gun aimed at his head, and then the asshole laughs.

 

“You can’t kill me, not without getting in trouble with the cupola,” he comments before looking back at Tsuna, like the Decimo’s offending him just by being there, “tell your master he’ll have to come himself, his dogs can’t touch me.”

 

The last word is a garbled mess, one that Tsuna barely catches between the sound of the gunshot and the way the man’s mouth fills with blood; and he doesn’t even have time to flinch before he’s at Xanxus’ heels again, moving mechanically up a couple flights of stairs as the questions finally start pooling at the front of his mind.

 

…

 

“What now?” It’s a hysterical whisper, and Xanxus would be happy to pretend he didn’t hear it at all, but he can’t let this kid fuck up now.

  
“Sit down and wait”

  
“What?”

 

 _That_ he’s not gonna grace with an answer, so he simply finds their floor and expects Sawada to follow him to the meeting room while he tunes out the waves of panic coming off of the boy; he doesn’t even have to look in to know that Squalo’s already there, and for the moment he can ignore the two annoying guardians that demanded to tag along, both of which pretty much sprint across the room as soon as their Decimo steps through the door.

 

“Take that off, there’s nothing more suspicious that a coat indoors,” Squalo barks at the kid, and holds up the usual bakery paper bag –Xanxus sincerely hopes for cornetti, everything else there is too damn sweet for his taste, and the shark doesn’t disappoint– for him to drop his guns into.

 

Xanxus shoves off his own coat as he takes a bread out of the bag and watches Sawada’s face shift slowly from fear, to shock to understanding. _Finally._

 

“Reborn?”

 

It’s the only thing little Decimo says, and both his guardians stop to look at him like has just sprouted something resembling balls; Xanxus really can’t help but laugh around his snack.

 

“Congratulations, kid; you’ve found your strings.”


	8. There's a storm coming and someone switches sides.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the rain pelting against the window’s relaxing, and brings with it the sick pleasure of knowing every single asshole standing out on the yard is either soaked or huddled under an umbrella; he won’t let them in, won’t let them make a party out of this even if it is supposed to be.

There’s not a single room colder in this house than the war room, and Tsuna is as glad for that as he is for getting out of that fucking building with nothing but a half-baked explanation of leaking pipes –coincidentally in the same floor where there should be an abstract painting of what was once a man– and a paper bag full of guns.

Not burning up does wonders for his mood and, at least for the time being, it’s done an amazing job of keeping Nono at a distance; it will do nothing to stop Reborn he’s aware of that, but at the moment Tsuna tries to just sit quietly for a second while Gokudera and Yamamoto pick at his second cornetti –he fished it out of the bag so it tastes like gun oil some, easy to ignore when you feel as starved as he does right now– and Xanxus does his menacing whisper thing over by the phone, sipping whiskey between words.

Even the rain pelting against the window’s relaxing, and brings with it the sick pleasure of knowing every single asshole standing out on the yard is either soaked or huddled under an umbrella; he won’t let them in, won’t let them make a party out of this even if _it is_ supposed to be.

  
It had earned him another weird moment of pride from Xanxus, when he made his way across the courtyard without even looking at the men congratulating him on his baptism. The Varia boss had crossed the doors laughing; god, even Squalo had chuckled at the scene like Tsuna wasn’t about to puke at how goddamn ridiculous this whole thing was.

( _He wonders for a second if the Xanxus’ anger makes him as nauseous as he is right now, or if he has simply gotten so used to it that it has become like an old dog; sure, it used to pee all over the carpet and chew on shoes but now it just sits on his lap and keeps him company_.)

  
Actually, if he strains his neck a little, he can still see the underbosses from here, like blots of ink in the sea of grass green of the front garden; they look nervous, they shift their weight from one leg to the other, knowing full well why one of them was found hanging naked from a tree with thirty euros at his feet.

  
Tsuna slumps further on the couch, sees nothing but milky, bluish sky and wonders idly what they’re gonna think when they find out about the second body.

 

…

 

Reborn gets to the body near fifteen minutes after it’s first found and that’s all the time it takes to plant the fear of God into the men who find it; the setting is secret, quiet, and the act itself so symbolic, it reeks of the Varia. Though the messy shot and the barely there state of the corpse’s head are enough to clarify that this death and the X carved underneath the Vongola crest are not Xanxus work, and the implications have him power walking back to his car.

He should’ve seen this bullshit coming; no, he amends, he _saw_ this bullshit coming and somehow chose to believe that Tsuna was willing to sit patiently and let Xanxus deal with everything. And he understands, he does, that being a little distrustful of the Varia is a good idea no matter the time, but for Tsuna to go as far as to lie to Dino is a worrying, sobering thought.

  
His mistake was to follow Nono’s instructions to the T, because this _is_ a rather late christening for an heir; the old boss said he wanted to pace it, even though it was obvious to Reborn from the beginning that this was more a case of a grandfather worried about his grandson. Especially after the Millefiore clusterfuck when Tsuna had waltzed into the mansion, wolfed down enough food for a week and slept the day away.

The boy’s coping mechanisms are so scarily similar to Xanxus’ that even Reborn had been on edge for a while; he stared at his student and tried not to see the same spark of frustration –expressed way more sparsely and in much less aggressive ways; Tsuna being sulking and apathetic where Xanxus was raging– when things didn’t go their way.

He figures that’s what drove Tsuna to this, that familiar kind of frustration, potentiated by the man himself; in trying to fix the snafu of raising his youngest son, Timoteo had pushed Tsuna right into his hands, and Reborn had simply let it happen.

 

…

 

If there is one thing that chills him to the bone, no matter how tired or angry or just done he is, that is Reborn’s flat tone when he wants to have a ‘serious’ talk –‘the dad voice’ Yamamoto calls it–, and in a way, it’s refreshing to realize that this one time, it’s not working how it usually does.

  
“What are you trying to do?”

It’s directed at Xanxus, mostly since Tsuna’s pretty much hidden completely by the back of the couch, as the tutor stalks into the war room; he’s worried, he realizes, and after the day Tsuna’s had, it’s the funniest thing ever.

His padrino, now made official by the cupola, throws a smile that somehow reminds him of a jagged cliff face his way and bites out his response over the rim of his glass.

  
“Teach him everything you haven’t.”

  
By now Tsuna’s pretty sure he has a better grip on Xanxus’ personality than just days earlier, and he’s conscious of how the man just enjoys being an asshole sometimes, so his answer really doesn’t come as a surprise. Besides, at the moment, he really can’t find it in him to correct that statement.

  
“He won’t let you turn him into a puppet boss,” it’s to the crisis’ credit that Reborn doesn’t even seem to realize he’s in the room right with them, or maybe it’s just that he’s too exhausted to emit his usual anxious atmosphere.

Either way, for the first time since this whole shit show started Tsuna doesn’t feel like his chest has been hollowed out with an ice cream scoop and made into a fucked up echo chamber of hate when someone mentions him. It’s his small chuckle at that what gives him away, and he tries to give Reborn a second to regroup before he points vaguely out the window.  
  
  
“I already _am_ a puppet boss,” his voice is neutral, tightly controlled so it won’t end up being accusing, “for them at least.”

His teacher makes the connection much faster than he did, and Tsuna should’ve guessed he would be much better at understanding the mindset of the Vongola than him; it’s the same recognition he saw in Xanxus’ eyes just before he shot the man that morning, a look that hardens Reborn’s entire face and has him reaching for his gun.

  
“We’ll do a cleansing, private, before Nono calls CEDEF.”

  
Xanxus laughs outright at the tutor’s blank expression, serves another drink and shoves it in Tsuna’s direction; he offers his phone too, brightness kicked up high so every soul in the room can see the string of unanswered calls from Iemitsu.

  
“The cupola told on you, little shit.”

  
His tone isn’t cheery at all, no matter how big his smile is.


	9. Tsuna sees clear and Xanxus has his fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s spent hardly a goddamn week with their shitty appointed child king and he understands already the look in Sawada’s insufferable Vongola eyes; maybe that is what makes him reach out his liquor across the span of unoccupied seat, after all, empathy for a kid that might be as stubborn as himself.

Xanxus takes one quick look of the room and it tells him all he needs to know; the little Decimo has been swayed, his pups properly rushed into confusion and whatever truce they think this is. As a small miracle on the side, even Reborn hangs halfway between anger and guilt; anger at the sole possibility of treason, not to mention the confirmation of it, guilt at how he has so fantastically fucked this kid up.

As it stands there’s only a single conceivable opposition in Xanxus’ path; it’s just his piss poor luck that said opposition is currently on a plane with the misguided and stupid idea of swooping down to save his son, the son Iemitsu himself threw to the wolves before his balls even fully dropped.

Squalo is sent to bring the car around, as he doesn’t trust anyone else to sidestep the old man that might suddenly wheel out from behind a curtain, and he’s left to play nice around Sawada; which in all honesty is not gonna be that hard if Reborn insists on alternatively eyeing the boy and the syringe carefully laid out on the bar.

Xanxus has hated the compound on principle since he first knew of it and he hates it now more than ever, it’s a crutch, a warm hug of adrenaline for the already pampered heir; a shove forward that isn’t even necessary. He’s spent hardly a goddamn week with their shitty appointed child king and he understands already the look in Sawada’s insufferable Vongola eyes; maybe that is what makes him reach out his liquor across the span of unoccupied seat, after all, empathy for a kid that might be as stubborn as himself.  
  


…

  
The yawn gives Gokudera pause, his hand suspended over a photo of an overweight smiling man at what seems like the Vongola mansion’s very own garden, and it’s not like Tsuna’s bored with his crash course in Vongola allies but he can’t really help but feel the last two weeks like a pressure over the back of his neck. Both his best friends are much more familiar with these men than him, they have actually worked with them while he sat in Nono’s office reading history books; he barely knows half of the cupola and mostly from sight, so he shakes his head and ignores the worried looks of his guardians as he asks them to keep going.

  
“You need a shot?” comes the voice all the way from across the room.

  
Tsuna smiles because he does appreciate Reborn’s attempt at humor, though he doesn’t answer; he drinks instead from the glass Xanxus offers, letting the whiskey numb his tongue before it burns a trail down his chest.

( _He’s not gonna deny that the thought of offering his arm out for injection is tempting, chasing the rush down with whatever’s left in the tumbler in his hand just to take the edge off._

_He supposes he can’t be blamed for developing a habit for the stuff, not when they’ve been supplying him with Dying Will since he was fourteen_.)

  
“You think Iemitsu might?” the Varia boss inspects his gun languidly from his place by his right and grins.

  
Tsuna laughs because every single soul in that room knows he isn’t ready to make that call yet, no matter how menacingly CEDEF breathes down his neck.

The alcohol is considerably less offensive after his first two sips, though, and for now keeps him on a delicate balance; he’s not sluggish yet, but he’s not panicking either.

  
“Maybe you should take a nap,” Yamamoto suggests, with a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a glance across the coffee table at Hayato, who checks his watch.

“We still have half an hour…”

“It’s raining.”

  
The comment makes Gokudera’s entire body turn to face Xanxus and stare at him, like he’s afraid he might’ve had a stroke mid conversation, until it downs on him.

  
“He’s right, via de la Libertá’s gonna be slowed down to a crawl with this weather.”

  
They agree to leave, in a formation that’s familiar enough to be second nature; Yamamoto takes the front and Gokudera covers his back. Xanxus follows close after, there –Tsuna supposes– to stop them from falling behind, while his tutor stays at the back, rounding their little lineup.

He recognizes the move, in theory; Reborn means to cage Xanxus between two possible enemies, just in case he tries anything. In practice Tsuna knows this is a bad plan, he doesn’t quite see yet how but it’s screaming in his head; then Squalo shows up on the wrong side of the foyer, evidently coming from the opposite entrance, and Tsuna is proven right.

The swordsman rushes past, well aware that Takeshi will follow him on instinct and force them to pick up their pace; they do, speeding up through the same garden exit he used not twenty hours before, except for the regular heavy footsteps behind his storm guardian. It’s a cheap, easy trick but enough to slow Reborn down until there’s the telltale sound of wheels taking a corner and Nono’s voice in the hallway.

  
“Reborn! It’s great to find you…!”

  
It’s the last thing Tsuna manages to hear before he’s making a break for the car, Xanxus quickly gaining on him and laughing so hard he can hear him over the rain.

   
…  
 

His argument is convincing, or Tsuna supposes it must have been; the words didn’t stick. What he remembers of the night are the dragging ride to Ciacuddi, the heavy set, fat cats of the cupola clapping his shoulders as Xanxus introduced him, and most of all, how he could finally see the Varia boss’ plan unfolding in front of his eyes.

It’s not exactly surprising at all if he thinks about it, but he’s glad all the same that he didn’t take the Dying Will; this way his body isn’t functioning on overdrive and he’s forced to clearly take in the road that landed him here, trying to overrun both his grandfather and CEDEF, reaching to keep up with Xanxus’ and his constant changes in course.

( _In that, Tsuna has to admit he’s brilliant, there’s nothing left unused, no situation in this fucked up game that the man left to waste._ )

He’s sure now that Xanxus didn’t try to kill Nono, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t find a way to make a building block of the attack; he aimed for the barely contained resentment whatever allies the asshole they had killed that day might have from the very beginning.

Timoteo’s only remaining son would’ve arrived in this room with or without Tsuna, he would’ve killed the organizer anyway and he would’ve brought this onto the Vongola; he would’ve shaken the fragile power balance and spread seeds of doubt all by himself.

But Tsuna just _had_ to be distrustful, didn’t he? _Had_ to give Xanxus the perfect opportunity to drag him into this room and this seat, to act as his meat shield.

He’s officially Decimo now and this meeting with the cupola is nothing but an unspoken declaration of war.


	10. Reborn has a very important question to ask, he doesn't know if he's gonna like the answer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reborn wonders for half an indifferent second if Nono ever realized how fucking good his only remaining son is at this goddamn job.

The wait is far more comfortable than he imagined in the split second of realization while he bid his goodbyes to the other bosses –and every ‘see you soon’ felt like the flash of a gun, a promise of violence and a joke about coffins he’s not sure he gets _yet_ – after all, he’s back where he started, in Nono’s office with the man he chose to follow all the way to the gallows.

( _He can’t help but grin at the way Xanxus had driven them back to the mansion, unsettlingly fast and keeping a hand close to his gun when they stopped at the toll booth. He has to admit the ‘get fucked, kid’ he got when the Varia boss caught him staring made him snort with laughter._ )

 

Maybe he’s just too tired, but he doesn’t mind to be here and slouch in his chair with his legs stretched so far under the desk that he’s nudging Xanxus’ boots; this isn’t the end of the night, even if he’s managed to convince his guardians to try and catch some sleep. He’s been running from Reborn enough to know that this is where the hitman catches up to him, along with Iemitsu because his luck’s still as shitty as it’s been all his life.

But for now –for this one precious, goddamn quiet moment– he laughs a tired chuckle up at the ceiling and tries to rub the feeling back into his face because, while he’s not quite sure if this is denial or if his anxiety finally went full circle into not caring at all, every inch of his body feels a little numb at the moment.

   
“You finally got what you wanted,” he says it like a certainty, shoving Xanxus’ feet harder this time, with _purpose_ , “now someone’s gonna kill me for sure.”

“The last thing the Vongola needs is a boss weak enough to get offed as soon as he takes the seat, so, kid, you better not fucking die.”  
 

He feels the sole of the man’s boot lining up with his sneaker so his foot gets bent back at the ankle until he’s flinching; Xanxus is looking at him the way he did at the warehouse, like he’s deciding if he should be allowed to live or not.

   
“Would you take it back?”

   
Tsuna pulls back his feet, planting them firmly over the carpet while he thinks it over for a second. He just overthrew his own grandfather, effectively shoving him and the old guardians out of the line of fire; he managed to scare most of the underbosses into thinking his natural neurosis is nothing but a mask. He’s let Xanxus start a war in order to gain back the power the Vongola had been losing as Timoteo got older; a war that, according to his group chat, his friends are willing to fight with him.

And that’s the one thing holding him together at the moment, the one thing he can’t let go to waste; if his guardians, his _family_ , will readily jump into the fray for him, then the least he can do is give them something better to look forward to. If they’re all too deep into this to get out, he’ll show those old men that they can’t keep sucking the world dry and not give a single drop back; if he has to be a part of the mafia, then he’ll make it into something he can live with. He’ll burn this business to the ground and rebuild it with his own bare hands, and a war is the only chance he’ll get to pull it off.

 

“No.”

The word still hurts, there’s no scenario Tsuna can readily imagine where it wouldn’t _hurt_ to know that he’s made his peace with a conflict of this magnitude, but he just can’t cope with the alternative.

 

…

There’s always been something about Tsuna, Reborn is well aware of that, something that calls people to him; a stubbornness and a certain endearing honesty, an ease to see things for what they really are and an urge to make the world a little less shitty. The only thing the Dying Will ever did for the boy was burn away the doubt and self loathing; nothing more than taking away Tsuna’s protective layer of apathy so his true personality could shine unfiltered.

Reborn’s also very conscious that whatever this something is, he’s been caught in it too; iron cast as he is, he feels _affection_ for his student, he _worries_ , and he desperately wants to believe that Tsuna hasn’t been caught completely under the gears of Xanxus’ mind.  
  


Frankly there’s a part of him that still feels tempted to take this as a personal offense; which is stupid, so very _very_ idiotic, after 6 years of believing he’d be the obvious target in the Vongola just blew up in his face. It’s that exact outlook that convinced the underbosses that he was the puppet master behind Tsuna; that got Timoteo shot and, as a shiny cherry in the shit pie, got Xanxus officially introduced as Tsuna’s godfather.

He knows better than anyone what the title means, how untouchable the Varia boss has become and how close he is to Tsuna now, close enough to whisper in his ear; _poison_ him if he wanted. That’s what lit a fire under Iemitsu’s ass and sent Xanxus into overdrive to get this fucking mess over and done before he arrives; once war’s declared CEDEF has to stand with them no matter what. Reborn wonders for half an indifferent second if Nono ever realized how fucking good his only remaining son is at this goddamn job; but then there’s Takeshi knocking softly on the open door of Timoteo’s room to get his attention without waking the old man.

 

“Tsuna’s back, he’s in the office.”

“And…?” he doesn’t much want to respond and he wouldn’t if he didn’t feel like he’s fucked these kids over enough already.

“He’s asking for you, we thought you’d be at the door waiting to beat us into shape.”

   
He ignores the loaded pause in Yamamoto’s phrase, his change of tone, because he’d rather ignore the implication that he’s upset over the bullshit they just pulled; he’s not their father, of any of them, but the rain guardian always did have a way to see right through people. He doesn’t bother explaining that he now has to wait to be summoned, either; and he sure as hell doesn’t even allow the thought of how it actually makes him want to kill Xanxus over the sickeningly personal reason of fucking with _his_ student.

Reborn doesn’t bother to knock, he simply shoves the door of Timoteo’s office open to see Tsuna sitting in Nono’s chair, behind the boss’ desk with Xanxus in the visitor’s seat; and he tells himself that the tension that drops from his shoulders is because he loves to be proven right and not because Tsuna looks battered but not broken. When both men look up with the same half annoyed, half exhausted lack of interest, the hitman forces the alarm bells in his head quiet.

 

Reborn knows he’s looking at the new boss of the Vongola family; he’s just not quite sure which one of these men it is.


End file.
